The Trouble with Feline-sitters
by Dakoyone
Summary: Anders once mentioned the fact that he had to give Ser Pounce-A-Lot to a friend in Amaranthine. Little did he know how terribly incompetent a cat-sitter his friend would turn out to be.


_A/N: You know those moments of inspiration you get when you're taking a shower? Yeah, this is one of __those__. This is how the reunion between Anders and Nathaniel in Dragon Age 2 should've gone down, in my opinion. =P_

_Disclaimer: Between Nathaniel Howe and Fenris, I can't decide who's broodier. _

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The Trouble with Feline-sitters

The scion of the Howe line gritted his teeth as he noticed another wave of darkspawn leaping out to replace the ones he had already downed. It was just his Maker damned luck that he was running out of arrows. He leaned forward and plunged a pointed tip into the throat of a genlock that had foolishly wandered into melee range before leaning back, nocking it easily against his bow, and loosing it into the head of another further away. He danced nimbly away from a wildly swung blow, his steps sure as he dodged and ducked, reaching down to yank arrows out of fallen corpses and firing them as he went. The hairs at the back of his neck tingled warningly, and he barely had time to tuck himself in a forward roll, the tainted blade at his back singing through the air where his ear was.

So absorbed in the fight was he that he hardly registered the feeling of magic that washed over him, closing the minor wounds that he sustained and renewing his fighting spirit. It wasn't until he saw the fire-laced spellwork dancing along his arrowheads that he noticed a small group of fighters finishing off the remaining darkspawn in the area. Deft hands reached behind and pulled out his remaining arrow, firing a direct shot between the eyes of the final genlock.

The sound of soft, leather footsteps neared him as he gazed out, surveying the damage. His Warden senses reached out and sensed more darkspawn further in, but for now…

"Nathaniel Howe?"

He turned to the woman addressing him. For the briefest moment, he wondered at the uncanny resemblance she had to a certain Warden-Commander, but he shook the thought away immediately. "Champion," he acknowledged, bowing his head respectfully.

Marian Hawke blinked, _Maker, does _everyone _know who I am_?

"And…" Nathaniel's eyes widened as he reocognized the person standing beside her, a person whom he never expected to see again...especially down here, "_Anders_."

Instead of being just as surprised as he was, Anders pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at his former Warden comrade. "You," he began, an accusatory finger pointed in his direction, "if you're down here in the Deep Roads, where is Ser Pounce-A-Lot?"

Nathaniel flinched, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the apostate, "Anders, I-"

"Did you leave him with that Dalish chit again? I swear, Velanna looks hungry every time she see him…"

"No, he-"

"If Sigrun took him back to the Legion with her, I swear by Andraste, I'll gut you…"

"He's staying with-"

"Garevel is _not_ a suitable caretaker for him!"

"He's staying with Albert and Edward back in Amaranthine."

"He is?" Anders blinked for a beat, taking the moment to process the information, "That's even _worse_!" He began pacing in a small area, prompting Nathaniel to look up at the ceiling and heave a sigh, knowing exactly what was coming next. Hawke and her other companions could only stare silently at the the exchange, glancing from one man to the other. "You do recall what happened the last time Ser Pounce-A-Lot was put in your nephew's '_care_'..."

Nathaniel nodded.

"Ser Pounce-A-Lot was _not_ happy with his tail being treated so...so...with such lack of respect!"

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows distractedly and shook his head in quiet agreement.

"And..._And_! He was chased around by your wooden sword-wielding nephew!"

Nathaniel made a show of picking at his fingernails.

"Ser Pounce-A-Lot was traumatized for weeks! _Weeks!_"

The rogue archer pinched the skin between his eyes in attempt to ease the mysterious, or not so mysterious, beginnings of a headache.

"What kind of caretaker are you, to leave poor Ser Pounce-A-Lot at the mercy of your ruthless kinsman? Just what have you to say for yourself?" Anders shouted, rounding on the other man and jabbing a finger into his chest.

Nathaniel raised his hands to show his surrender in the face of Anders' verbal onslaught, "I am sorry, Anders."

Blowing harshly out of his nose, Anders huffed and crossed his arms, "You are impossible to talk to!"

"I do my best," Nathaniel sighed. So much for hoping that Justice had taken on the dominant personality within the mage's body.

Awkward silence lingered for a beat, accompanied by the distant shrieks of darkspawn further in. Marian swung herself back and forth on the balls and heels of her feet. "So…Delilah hoped we'd find you down here…"

End

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_A/N: Yes, I know...Nathaniel's first arrow move against the darkspawn was shamelessly lifted off of Orlando Bloom's Legolas from Fellowship of the Ring. I am a bad, bad girl._


End file.
